A Supernatural FanFic (no title yet)
by LadyRodgers
Summary: Sam and Dean have found themselves in Wisconsin's Northwoods tracking what they think is the only monster in town. But will Dean's interest in a local waitress serve up more than they can handle?
1. Chapter 1

**_CHAPTER ONE_**

Dean and his brother, Sam, tore through the brush of the old forest as fast as they could. Dean couldn't speak for Sam, but _his_ legs and lungs were definitely burning. The three inch height difference between him and his little brother made more of a difference than one would imagine in these situations. Sam was all legs and Dean had to push harder to keep up. "Dean?" Sam called to his brother without looking back as he continued to run, making sure he was still close. "Right behind ya, Sammy!" he hollered back.

The boys found themselves in a new town nearly every week clearing the community of any unwanted... well, Dean liked to refer to it as "Pest Control". This week they were tracking something in the deep woods outside of Minocqua, Wisconsin. Winter was just around the corner and the crisp, cold air turned their hands red and numb. The lower branches of the trees whipped them in the face, stinging like tiny razors. This, along with the little moonlight they had fading behind a blanket of navy blue clouds, progressively hindered Dean's vision causing him to feel uncharacteristically fearful as he sprinted through the pines. He wanted to slow his pace to avoid colliding with any trees, but he knew that losing Sam in this maze would make things worse.

"Dean, it's here! I see the glare!" Sam yelled. Dean saw the same glowing red light Sam was directing them towards and with one last burst of strength, Dean hurdled over an old stump, landing awkwardly on his feet. "Woah!" Sam caught the collar of his big brother's army flack jacket and yanked him out of the way of an old pickup truck just in time.

They paused for a second realizing they'd lost the creature they'd been chasing: "Looks like a cross between a gnome and some kinda Big Foot," Bobby had described it to them over the phone the day before. "A Hunachah. It takes on human form, but not well and not for long. In the moonlight its fur gives off a red glare so its fellow wood apes can tell it apart from lost humans. Their vision is terrible, but their other senses are superhuman and they need a steady diet of human bone marrow to stay alive."

Sam and Dean had been tracking it for the better part of the night, hoping to plug it full of the herb encrusted bullets one would need in order to kill it. Sadly, neither one realized how quick these things actually were.

"Damn it!" Dean cursed kicking the dirt at his feet. It was then that Sam figured out the red glare they were running after were actually tail lights from the cars traveling down the road they'd run into. Dean collapsed on the stump he'd avoided just moments before, taking a breather to let his heart rest. Sam pulled out his cell phone. "Hey, Bobby... we lost him... no idea. For all we know we were just chasing tail lights... We'll start walking, just keep us posted." Flipping his phone shut, he patted his brother on the back. "How ya holdin' up there?" he joked. Dean grunted, "This is no time for jokes, Sam. We just lost a whole night for nothing. Meanwhile we're God knows how far from Baby."

After another minute or two Dean picked himself up and the two headed down the road towards the old 1967 Chevy Impala that had been so loyal to them over the years.

Dean and Sam Winchester were the last in their bloodline. Plagued by a plethora of demons and angels, their family had been wiped out one-by-one over the last several years; fighting, then giving into, then fighting all the responsibilities put upon them. Bitterly, Dean joked that they were being "volun-told" to keep the world safe from frequent disaster. Given the chance, they would have both rather lived long, normal lives with both their parents around for the traditional formative years: birthdays, little league games, school plays, graduations, proms, weddings, babies, you name it. Who wouldn't want that? But, at this point, even if they did have the chance to hang it all up and pass the torch onto some other poor soul, they couldn't. They were just too deep in.

It seemed like hours before Dean finally spotted the reflection of the now brilliant light of the moon glaring off the slick black paint of the Impala. With a sigh of relief Dean spread his arms wide and hugged his beloved car. "My baby," he said knowing full well Sam could hear him, "she'll always be here waiting for me." Sam rolled his eyes and waited patiently on the passenger side of the car for Dean to wrap up the man-on-car love fest and unlock his door.

The warmth of the heater seemed to burn their skin as they headed back into town. "So, what now?" Sam asked picking up a map. "Now? Pie, beer, and some sleep, little buddy," Dean smirked. He turned on the radio and his smirk spread into a grin when he heard "Misty Mountain Hop" flowing from the speakers. Sam turned down the radio, "Don't you think we should see what we can do about tracking this thing further?"  
"Sammy, we just spent the last 36 hours watching this thing and look where we are: tired, freezing, hungry, and I need a friggin' beer. I say we head back to the room, fuel up, rest up, clean up and head out again in the morning." Sam yawned, giving in quickly to his brother's plan. A warm bed and a hot shower did sound pretty perfect right about now.

Dean pulled up to the motel to let Sam out. "Aren't you coming in?" Sam asked pointing to the room over his shoulder with his thumb. Dean shook his head, "There's a place up the road with some burgers and beer. I'll grab some stuff for us while you clean up." Sam sighed and slid out of the car, listening to it drive away as he let himself into their room. Normally, Dean would insist on taking the first shower and hogging all the hot water for himself, so the fact that he was allowing Sam dibs meant one thing: a girl. If he had one, Sam would have bet his entire paycheck on Dean ditching him for a girl that night. And he would have won.

The restaurant Dean was itching for was a cute, little diner called Herr Lehmann's; a family place that served traditional German food, lots of beer, and great pie. Dean was in heaven. He parked the car close to the entrance to see if he could get a glimpse inside.

Earlier that day he'd talked to a girl named Gretchen who thought she may have witnessed something suspicious involving a strange Sasquatch-like creature. After talking to her the first time, Dean knew it wasn't anything worth investigating further, but that didn't matter; she was pretty and when she spoke German it sounded sexier than French, so he said he would meet her later tonight after her shift was over.

Dean sat at the booth closest to the Impala. Like a traditional diner, there were booths along the windows and an isle separated them from the stools at the counter that faced the kitchen. Through the window of the kitchen you could hear the food sizzling and the staff conversing half in English and half in German. The man at the pass was a tall, beefy man with a gray beard and hair that probably used to be black; he had the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen. The place smelled so good he wondered for a moment that he might be more interested in the food than the girl. "Agent Simon!" Of course, once he got a good look at Gretchen in her lederhosen, he decided the pie could wait. He smiled and stood up to greet her. "Gretchen," he shook her hand and waited, like a gentleman, for her to sit until he slid back into his side of the booth.

She had bright green eyes that lit up when she smiled. Her long, curly blonde hair was wrapped around her head in milkmaid braids to match her work attire... which was... rather revealing for a place that was considered to be a family eatery.

"Thanks for meeting me," Dean started. Gretchen nodded, "Sure, no problem. If I can help - " Dean put his hand up politely. "We've actually got this under control. Without going too far into detail, I can tell you we've pinpointed our suspect and we're hot on the trail. I've got my best man on it as we speak." Gretchen sighed in relief, her pouty lips pursed as she rested her hand on her chest and sat back in her seat. "Thank goodness," she said. Dean smirked smugly, "Well, it's all thanks to citizens like you who keep such a watchful eye on your communities." Gretchen smiled again and Dean's stomach tumbled again. "So, uh, now that I'm off duty for the night, I don't suppose you'd want to get outta here and - " This time Gretchen put her hand up. "My shift is almost up. I just need to cash out and let my dad know I have a ride home."  
"Your dad?"  
"Yeah, Herr Lehmann! This is my family's place. I'll be right back!"

With that Dean watched her slip out of the booth and disappear into the kitchen. She appeared again at the pass where the blue-eyed man prepared the delicious smelling meals. Dean suddenly went numb in his loins as he watched the chef's face go from perfectly happy to "I'm-gonna-kill-that-son-of-a-bitch" as Gretchen explained she would be leaving that night with a strange man. "Jakob, kommen Sie!" he hollered to another cook. A young man in his mid twenties with the same blue eyes, wearing an old blue and gold trucker hat that read "ACME Packers" across the front took over the food prep. Herr Lehmann stepped onto the floor with his daughter following close behind and Dean nearly shat his pants as the scary German man approached.

"Are you Agent Simon?" Herr Lehmann asked in a very smooth, baritone voice. Dean stood up, faking confidence, and reached out to shake his hand. "Yes, sir. I'm one of the feds in town working on the hubbub you all have going on here," Dean winced a little. _Hubbub?_ "My daughter tells me you'll be taking her home tonight." Dean glanced over the man's shoulder at Gretchen who was obviously irritated that her father was still keeping tabs on her at this age. "Yes, sir, if that's alright with you, sir, of course, sir." _Could you sound any less like an fed right now?_ Gretchen put her hand on her father's shoulder and said something sweet in German. Dean caught himself grinning at the sound of her German, but snapped out of it as soon as his eyes met the eyes of the father who may or may not kill him come morning.

"You will take good care of my daughter, or Jakob and I will put an end to your dates." Jakob waved at Dean through the window with a smile that said "we-don't-want-to-but-we-will". Struggling to maintain what little masculinity he had left, Dean nodded and promised he would take Gretchen home as soon as possible. After a quick kiss on the cheek and another exchange of sweet German words, Gretchen bundled up in her coat and scarf and followed Dean out to the Impala.

Dean switched on the heater and rubbed his hands together. "Sorry about my dad," Gretchen mumbled. "He's really a cupcake. He and my brother just like to mess with the guys I date because they know they're terrifying."

"Well, it works!" Dean blurted out, just as Gretchen barely finished her sentence. She laughed. "Ohh, armer schatz! Let's just go get that beer and you'll feel much better." Dean forced a smile feeling far more emasculated when he noticed Herr Lehmann and Jakob laughing at Dean from inside the restaurant. _I hope this bar has pie._


	2. Chapter 2

**_CHAPTER 2_**

After a shower and some coffee, Sam turned on the TV for some background noise and started searching the online newspapers for any new info on the killings. He was relieved to see that nothing new had been reported and, while that didn't mean that nothing had happened in the last hour or so, it helped him relax a little; he didn't sleep well knowing that that thing was still out there feasting on the innocent on account of him.

He shut down his laptop and moseyed on over to the bed, where he collapsed and began flipping through channels hoping to find something light to zone out to. It was then that his stomach started growling. He picked up his phone to check the time... _Dean should be back any minute... _and decided to wait it out a little longer in case his brother was on his way back with a hot meal. But, of course, like with any situation involving a female, Dean was taking his time.

It wasn't long after that Sam opted to give Dean a call. Dean's phone rang twice, then went to voicemail. Of course_. _"Hey, it's me. Just calling to see if you were able to find some grub; I'm gettin' kinda hungry over here. Call me when you get this." He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed next to him. _This girl better be the be-all-end-all,_ Sam thought to himself as his stomach growled once more.

Dean and Gretchen went to a small, local bar up the street from her family's restaurant. Gretchen grabbed a cozy table by the fireplace while Dean ordered a couple beers for the two of them. "Nice place," Dean said as he slid into his chair. Gretchen thanked him for the beer and told him it was the oldest bar in town. "Really?" Dean asked, feigning interest. "How long?"  
"Almost as long as my family has been here."  
"And how long has that been? I mean, judging from the looks of your dad's place, it's got some good mileage on it."

Gretchen sipped her beer and nodded, "Yeah, I'm a 5th generation. We've been here for... ever." Her eyes scanned the old, wooden walls of the bar nostalgically. "You ever think about leaving? Trying something new?" Dean asked. Gretchen shrugged, "I don't know. I mean, I've tried. I've traveled around, but..." she trailed off for a moment, her wandering eyes locking onto the flames in the fireplace. "I always felt like I had to come back," she finished softly.

Dean suddenly started feeling his interest growing slightly more genuine. He shifted a bit in his seat, waiting for Gretchen to, hopefully, elaborate on her response to his question. In an attempt to seem compassionate, he slid his hand across the table and touched her's gently. Gretchen jumped slightly; Dean's touch brought her back into the room. "You Ok?" Dean asked. Gretchen smirked warmly and nodded, "Sorry, my mind wanders." Dean assured her it was Ok, and if she felt the need to continue, he was here to listen. _Chicks love hearing that._

"Well," she continued, "I guess it was after my mom died, I decided I had to stay." Dean's ears perked up a bit. "I mean, the idea of leaving my dad and my little brother to handle the family business alone just didn't seem right. My dad has poured so much of himself into this, I can't just let it fade away. Y'know?" She looked up at him with big, green puppy dog eyes and all Dean could do was nod. "Family is all you have in this world," she concluded.

Dean felt his heart sink a bit as Gretchen said this. She sighed and shifted in her seat. "Sorry if I'm putting a damper on the night," she apologized. Before she could finish her thought, Dean put his hand up and said, "No, no. I'm with you. I understand where you're coming from."

Gretchen smiled. "Yeah? What's your family like? Do you have siblings, too?" Dean smirked as he thought of Sam. "Yeah, I do. I have a younger brother. We're pretty close, but sometimes I feel like I'm blowin' it, trying to look out for his ass all the damn time," Dean joked lightly. With a big grin, Gretchen raised her beer to Dean's and said, "Prost! To the burdens and joys of being the older sibling." The two clinked glasses, then took a big swig to seal the toast.

At that same moment Dean's phone rang. He checked the caller ID... _well, speak of the devil_. Dean decided Sam would eventually figure out that he was involved in far more serious matters, then, like the grown-ass man he was, feed himself. He reluctantly hit the "Ignore" button and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

Turning his attention back towards Gretchen, Dean asked, "If you don't mind me asking, how did you lose your mother?" Sitting back into her chair and breaking eye contact with Dean, she looked down at her beer and said, "Turns out she was murdered. My dad told us it was a car accident because he felt that murder was too harsh for children to wrap their heads around. Well, we were hardly children anymore. I mean, I was 18, I could have handled it, but Jakob was just starting high school. He didn't find out until college. _That_ was a rough conversation to have." Dean's heart sank. He knew all too well the torture one goes through when losing a parent. Or two.

Trying to ignore the growing lump in his throat, Dean blurted out, "My mom was murdered, too." Gretchen looked up at him, surprised. "Really? I mean, I'm so sorry," she sighed. "How old were you?"  
"I was 4. Sammy - Sammy's my brother - was only a baby; he doesn't remember anything about her."

Gretchen wrapped her hands tightly around Dean's, "You were 4? How did you cope?" Dean didn't realize how cold his hands were until Gretchen took them in hers. "I just... did. After that Dad started taking us on the road with him, raising us all over the country, teaching us the family business. And now... now it's just me and Sammy. And all we have is each other. And calling it quits? That's just not in the cards for us anymore."

It wasn't until Gretchen asked, "Family business? I thought you were in the FBI," that Dean realized he'd just nearly outed the Winchester name. He blinked a few times, and, feeling slightly panicked for the first time in... well, ever, he tried to re-collect his thoughts, and come up with a cover. "Oh, um, yeah, well, our dad was a mechanic and he also was in a special kind of law enforcement and he -." Gretchen stopped him, "I'm sorry. I'm prying. I hope this hasn't become uncomfortable for you."  
"No, no! Not at all. To be honest, it's pretty awesome to talk to someone who really gets it." The two exchanged a sincere glance and suddenly Dean felt more at ease. "Next round's on me," Gretchen insisted as she stood up and headed back to the bar. Dean felt a warm, fuzzy feeling inside that was a mixture of good and weird... but mostly good. The idea of pie didn't even cross his mind for the rest of the night.

After several more failed attempts at contacting Dean, Sam finally gave up and ordered a pizza. Grumpy, tired, and hungry he called Bobby to see if he'd heard anything about their monster... and to bitch about Dean's inconsideration a little.

"I haven't heard from him since you called earlier," Bobby said. "I'm sure he's fine; you know how he is. Once he sees something he likes, he locks in and he doesn't give up easy. Just eat your pizza and get some shuteye. He'll be back soon enough." Sam yawned, "Sure, Bobby. Let me know if you hear anything."

Once the pizza arrived, Sam quickly gobbled up two slices, then passed out immediately, only to be woken up a couple of hours later by the sound of the door opening. He shot up in bed, instinctively reaching for his gun. "Woah! Cool your jets, Terminator!" Sam recognized the voice immediately. "Dean, where the hell have you been? I've been trying to call you for hours!" Sam scolded. Dean switched on the lamp between the two double beds and Sam winced; his eyes still were still in sleep mode. "What time is it?"  
"About 4 AM," Dean yawned.

As Dean sat down on the edge of his bed, Sam noticed that smirk on his brother's face that he was all too familiar with. "Oh, dude," Sam grumbled and flopped back down on the bed. Dean chuckled, "It's not what you think, Sammy."  
"I don't want to know, Dean!" Sam mumbled from under the pillow he had covering his face. "We just talked, dude!" Dean insisted.

Sam uncovered his face and looked over at his brother with a look of disbelief. "You _talked_?" Dean's smirk turned into a grin as he untied his boots. "For 6 hours, _you, _Dean Winchester, just talked. About what?"  
"About what? About... life! And Wisconsin and cheese and... I dunno, man, it turns out she and I have some things in common."  
"Oh, does she listen to the same five albums over and over on cassette tape, too?"

Dean glanced around the room, ignoring his Sam's question. "We got anything to eat around here?" Sam sighed and pointed to the pizza box sitting on the table, "Help yourself. I'm going back to sleep."

With that Sam threw the covers over himself and fell blissfully back into a nice deep sleep. Dean stayed up a while longer, had some pizza, and took a hot shower. He laid in bed, drifting off in the still and quiet room.


	3. Chapter 3

**_CHAPTER 3_**

The following morning started much later than the Winchesters had originally planned, before Gretchen stepped into the picture. Sleeping in was not something they made a habit of, and, had it not been for the local sheriff's officer banging on their motel door, they would have wasted the better part of a day.

Sam shot up in bed - startled by the knocking - with eyes wide and body alert, his brain still trailed several seconds behind. He stumbled out of bed to the window where he peeked through the sheer yellow curtains to see who could be paying them a visit. The officer stood patiently at the door and gave Sam a casual salute with his right index and middle fingers when he saw him through the window. Sam waved and turned to his brother who was still fast asleep and snoring so audibly it was any wonder how he hadn't woken himself up. "Dean! Wake up!" Sam hissed. Dean just snored louder, his body remained corpse-like. Sam rubbed his face and yawned before opening the door.

"Good morning, Agent," the officer greeted flatly. "Sorry to wake you boys," he paused to check the time on his well-worn, gold watch that was getting to be too small for his chubby wrist. He was spending more time at his desk lately, his retirement growing closer, but he still insisted on wearing it daily despite the extra pounds. Sam guessed it was a family heirloom or a gift from a loved one. Something sentimental.

"Sheriff Becke told me I could find you and your partner here. Seems there's been another homicide and he wants you boys to have a look." Sam's jaw dropped slightly. The news of death never came easy to him, but he quickly sucked it up and lifted his head to maintain a look of professionalism. "Of course, Officer...?"

"Gerst." He took Sam's hand and gave it a good shake. "Agent Garfunkel," Sam introduced himself formally. Gerst then handed Sam a card with an address scribbled on the back. "Here's where you can find us," he looked past Sam's shoulder at Dean, still fast asleep, his limbs spread out all over the bed and his snoring interrupting his train of thought. "Just get yourselves down there as soon as possible. This one isn't like the last two."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it looks like this one involved..." Gerst wiggled his fingers in front of his chest, struggling to find the words. "Hell, if I didn't know any better, I'd say a vampire or something."

"A vampire?"

"Call me crazy, but I can't explain it any other way. Just get down there. I'll let the Sheriff know you're on your way." Gerst gave one more casual two-fingered salute, then waddled back to his patrol car.

Sam shut the door and quickly made his way to the bathroom, tossing a pillow at his brother's head in an attempt to wake him. "Dean, get up! It's almost noon and we've got another vic!" He stopped at the sink to wash his face, looking back over his shoulder, squinting through soap and water, hoping to see some movement from Dean. "Wake up!" he yelled again. "Wake up _now_!"

Sam began brushing his teeth. He bent down to spit in the sink and when he straightened back up he jumped, startled to see Dean standing behind him in the reflection of the mirror. "What's for breakfast?" Dean asked groggily as he stepped in front of the toilet to pee. Sam wiped his face and went to the bedroom to begin changing into his navy blue suit. "We don't have time for breakfast," Sam said. "Why?" Dean grumbled. "The Sheriff's Officer just came by and said there's been another murder. He wants us there to check it out."

Sam stopped buttoning his shirt and froze, waiting for a confirmation that his brother understood what was going on as he was not usually great at details so soon after waking up. There was a second of silence, then the toilet flushing, the faucet running, teeth brushing, gargling, a loud spit, then Dean appeared in the doorway seeming somewhat coherent. He then put his hands up and asked, "Okay... who?" It was obvious to Sam that Dean had not listened to a single word he'd just said. "Just get dressed; I'll explain on the way."

As they drove the Impala out of the motel parking lot, Sam told Dean what Gerst had said about this murder being different from the last one. "How?" Dean asked. "I didn't get a lot out of him. Just that it seemed like something a vampire would have done. He seemed confused by the whole thing."

"So, what, no limbs detached or bones missing? Did he say anything about fluids?"

Sam shrugged, "Nothing." Dean sighed, "Man, I am not in the mood for vamps today."

The address Gerst had given them was only a few short miles from the motel. The boys pulled up to an old Victorian style house which, without all the commotion, looked like a perfectly peaceful home. A few handfuls of locals gathered around to see if they could gain any information as to what was going on in their usually quiet town, while police officers stood guard in front of yellow tape. Local news reporters and journalists tried gaining access to the well-manicured lawn for just a glimpse or a quick photo of the victim. They groaned with jealousy as Agents Simon and Garfunkel simply walked onto the scene without so much as a 'hello' to the officers on guard. "FBI," Dean claimed, flashing his fake ID and badge over his shoulder to the press. The crowd withdrew their griping. "You don't have to show off," Sam scoffed. Dean just smirked. He never grew tired of whipping out the ol' fake IDs. "Works every time," he grinned.

Dean's giddiness vanished just as soon as they stepped inside the home. Like a sucker punch to the gut, the smell of decay hit their nostrils hard, something neither one was ready for. Gerst waddled over and held out an open container of Vick's VapoRub. "Dab some'a that under your nose; it helps with the smell." Sam and Dean eagerly accepted Gerst's remedy and thanked him as they smeared a healthy amount of the refreshing paste above their upper lips. With a quick nod, Gerst guided the brothers up the wide wooden staircase to the master bedroom where they discovered the source of the stench.

Sam and Dean struggled to remain composed as they got a heaping eye-full of the rotting corpses lying in the king-size bed before them. In all their years of hunting and being witness to some of the most unusual deaths, this one topped the charts.

It was just clear enough to see the victims' genders (one female, one male). Their clothes had been saturated with what little fluids were left in the bodies, leaking from the mouth, nose, eyes, ears, and any other openings one could imagine. Their greenish-blue flesh was blistered with gases, and maggots were beginning to set up shop in the open wounds. Limbs were detached - just like the other murders - only this time the chest cavity was crushed, like a good-sized rock had been dropped on them, then taken away. Sam leaned in and, sure enough, puncture wounds in the neck indicated one very possible answer: Vampire. He nudged Dean and pointed out the tiny holes in the neck. Dean's nostrils flared and his mouth tightened up. "This looks like the work of a vamp and about 4 other... things!" he grumbled at Sam.

"Agents," a man's voice distracted Sam and Dean from the horror laid out before them. Sheriff Becke shook each of their hands. "Thanks for such a quick response. I hope to God you boys can help us out with this one because, hell, we're stumped." Becke stared at the corpses, eyes wide in disbelief, while he rubbed his forehead with stiff fingers. "We'll do all that we can," Sam assured him.

It was clear to the Winchesters that these murders were the worst crime this town had ever seen in decades. Maybe in its entire history. Despite being a hulk of a man - dwarfing Sam by about 3 inches - the Sheriff was rather soft-spoken for a man of the law and stood with timid posture. He seemed like the kind of guy who got into law enforcement so he could save cats from trees, make sure kids weren't stealing gum balls from the local general store, and littler was placed in the trash bins. He and his men were visibly shaken and had little indication of where to begin their investigation.

"How long have they been here?" Dean asked nodding at the couple. "Coroner says about 3 or 4 days. The mailman called animal control thinking the smell was coming from something that had died under the porch. Animal control showed up and said right away that wasn't no smell he'd ever smelled. The front door was unlocked, so he let himself in, went upstairs and, well..." Becke waved his hand at the victims as if to say "here-ya-go!" A strong breeze suddenly blew in through the open windows carrying the putrid smell of decaying flesh with it and everyone squirmed. Some gagged and had to leave the room.

"Any sign of struggle? Forced entry?" Dean continued, suddenly thankful he hadn't had breakfast this morning; one more breeze like that and his bacon and eggs would be all over Becke's shoes. Becke shook his head. "If they were intact, I'd have said confidently that they died in their sleep. But, like I said, the front door was unlocked. Someone must've just let themselves in."

"Yeah, or someone just knows how to pick a lock," Dean mumbled. "Is the mailman or animal control guy around?"

"They're both downstairs," Becke answered. His brown basset hound eyes looked down at Dean with concern, "You don't think either of them could've done it do you? Because I know Hank and Tom and they're both good men." Dean assured him they just needed to ask some routine questions so they had a better idea of where to begin.

Dean found Sam hunched over, carefully scanning the bodies and taking notes. "Find anything?" he asked. Sam straightened up and reviewed his notes, scribbled down in a way that only he could read. "Well, you got the puncture wounds in the neck: vampire. The limbs are torn off and the bones are picked clean of any marrow: Hunachah. But the crushed chest? I've never seen any mons -" Sam quieted down when he happened to glance over Dean's shoulder and realized one of the police officers was eavesdropping. He turned his back to the cop and finished his thought in a whisper, "I've never seen any... animal or... thing crush a human before. Either we're dealing with the United Nations of Monsters or something completely new."

Dean was just as stumped as his brother, so he suggested they just start at the beginning. "I'm gonna go talk to the mailman and Animal Control. You find out when we can get in with the coroner and get a better look at the happy couple." Sam nodded and watched his brother exit the room.

Hank Hertz and Tom Schwartz were both natives to the town. Both were born and raised just a few blocks apart from each other and said they'd never seen anything like this before.

"How long have you worked for Animal Control?" Dean asked Hank. "Going on 20 years, sir," Hank answered, sounding as if he felt like he needed to impress Dean. "You must have a lot of good stories. Seen some crazy animals."

"Oh, yes, sir. In these woods you see all kinds."

"You ever seen an attack like this? Maybe a bear or something?"

"No, sir. I've seen a couple bear attacks, and that was not one of them. I've never seen an animal crush someone before. It's rare that a bear wanders into town this time of year. With winter around the corner, most of them gearing up for hibernation. And, to be frank, I've never seen one just waltz into someone's house, climb upstairs, do _that_, leave without a trace, _and_ have the courtesy to close the door behind themselves."

Dean nodded recognizing that, yes, if a bear had the ability to close a door, he wouldn't think to do it. "Did you know the couple?" he asked, moving the interview along. Both nodded 'yes' but Hank continued to do the talking, "We went to school with Chuck and Linda. Chuck is on our town hockey team. He _was _on our team, anyway."

"Were either of them having any problems with anyone? Any enemies, so to speak?"

Hank spoke again, "No, sir. Chuck and Linda got along with everyone. You'd be hard pressed to find anyone who would say something bad about those two."

Tom suddenly opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped himself. Dean's eyes narrowed a bit. "Tom? Anything you feel like sharing?" Tom and Hank exchanged a look as if they knew both something they were trying to keep quiet. "Now, I can't force anything out of you fellas," Dean informed, "but I should remind you that withholding information from a federal officer is -."

"Hannes Lehmann!" Tom blurted out.

Hank's head whipped around and he looked over at his friend, his eyes flecked with terror. "Tom!" he hissed. Dean's ears perked up. "Woah, woah. Hannes _Lehmann_?" Tom nodded, then looked over at Hank. Hank's shoulders dropped and he sighed. "Chuck had... a bit of a drinking problem," he confessed, reluctantly. "It wasn't anything anyone thought too much of. Well, except Hannes."

"Hannes Lehmann?" Dean clarified once more. Tom and Hank nodded together again. "Is he related to the family who owns the diner at the end of town?" Dean asked. "He _is_ the owner." Hank said. "The big German guy with the beard? I thought his name was Herr." Dean was confused for a moment. "Herr is German for 'mister'," Hank explained. "If you haven't noticed already, Wisconsin's got a pretty heavy German population. Picking up a few words here or there couldn't hurt." Hank chuckled, trying desperately to bring some color into such a dark conversation. No one likes to bring up a friend's vice, especially if they're dead.

"Anyway, a group of us watch the Packers at the Hannes' diner every Sunday. I mean, we did until last weekend. Chuck had had a few too many and Hannes had been warning him to quiet down because he was disturbing the other customers. Well, Chuck quieted down, but when Hannes' daughter, Gretchen stopped by the table to clear away a few plates, Chuck got a little... grabby and Hannes sorta lost it."

Suddenly picturing himself in place of Chuck, Dean was reluctant to ask, "What did he do to him?"

"Hannes jumped outta that kitchen like he was practicing a Lambeau leap! He grabbed Chuck by the neck, took him outside, and started wailing on him. Despite the incident inside, Gretchen ran out and stopped her dad from nearly killing the poor bastard. Hannes said he'd have our asses if we ever set foot inside his place again or if we told anyone about what had happened."

Dean couldn't help but picture what Herr Lehmann would do to him if he ever caught Dean too close to Gretchen. _Maybe I'll just settle for pie from now on._ "How did Chuck explain the beating to his wife?"

"I told you," Hank reminded him, "he was on our hockey team. You ever seen a guy after a serious hockey game? Half of 'em don't even have their teeth!"

Dean ran his tongue over his teeth picturing what he'd look like without them. "Well, thank you, gentlemen for the talk. We'll be in touch if we have anymore questions." Dean shook Tom's hand, but Tom wouldn't let go. Dean looked at him, confused. "Please, don't tell Hannes we told you about Chuck," Tom begged softly but with great emotion. Hank put his hand on his friend's shoulders and guided him away from Dean. "He's still really shaken up about it all," Hank interjected. Dean watched the two men hurry down the steps and into Hank's van. He was sure there was still something they weren't telling him.

Sam met Dean on the porch soon after his talk with Hank and Tom. "Get anything?" Sam asked. "Yeah. At least I think so. What about you?"

"The coroner is taking the remains away today, but they want to keep everything intact, so they have to find a way to move the whole mattress. They're gonna give us a call once we're allowed to go check 'em out."

"Well, let's get out of these monkey suits, get something to eat, then we can get back to business." Dean said as the two of them headed back to the Impala. "We should find a good German place. One of the cops upstairs said this town has a lot of German history to it," Sam suggested.

Dean was about to answer but something familiar grabbed his attention in the cluster of onlookers: a blue and gold trucker hat with ACME Packers printed on the front, then the piercing blue eyes under the brim. "Jakob," Dean said to himself. _Gretchen's brother._

He stood with the crowd of citizens, but he didn't have the same look of concern that the rest of them did. He watched the house as though he were watching something that sparked no reaction, like a lame magician at a kid's party. He stood still, leaning up against a tree with one hand in his jacket pocket and the other holding a cell phone to his ear. He had a smirk on his face that was truly out of place at a crime scene. Jakob finished up his conversation, casually walked back to his red pickup, and drove away unnoticed.

"On second thought, let's eat first," Dean decided. "I got a little place in mind."


End file.
